


Cover Story

by IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: M/M, Swearing, rated M for brief sexual content in the 2nd chapter, warnings for outing and possibly homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore/pseuds/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore
Summary: Prompt(self-made): Erol and Razer have been seeing each other for a long time. One day they are both approached by press with pictures taken that could expose their private relationship to Kras, Haven and worst of all: Mizo and Baron Praxis. How will this affect their lives?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-upload from my old account that I have deleted. The work upload was originally on February 5 2017-April 25 2018, and I have left it untouched so it is exactly as it was.

So, on top of participating in meetings, planning the KG Army’s strategies and trying to contact Count Veger all morning to schedule an urgent appointment(but his secretary had apparently “gone out for lunch” for the past 2 hours), Erol would have to deal with his world being turned upside down that day.

 

“Commander?” Erol reluctantly turned to look at an administrative assistant, who had popped her head into his workspace, as she spoke. “There is a reporter waiting by the back entrance. They claim to have an urgent matter that requires your attention, sir.”

 

“Which tabloid?” 

“They did not state that, sir. They did explicitly stress the urgency of the matter, though.”

 

If only this had been the first time Erol had been approached by a reporter with an “urgent matter”. Being in the limelight as a result of his political involvement and Zoomer-career was not a new development in Erol’s life. And about a dozen times had his fame gotten him into a situation with a writer trying to prove a rumor, a story that a dozen out of a dozen times had proven false. 

 

Erol found it a particularly hard pill to swallow, but a necessary one to take. It would only get worse, the growing number of reporters harassing him into giving his statement, waiting for him at every other corner, a small mob as intimidating and persistent as the entire KG Army. So nipping it in the bud was always the best strategy, before the flower would start to rot.

 

“They came alone? No photographer or assistant?” Erol needed the basic info to brace himself with.

“There was only one person, yes. And it was Entrance G15, sir. If you choose to greet them.”

 

It wasn’t a choice. Erol was out the door, headed straight for G15. He hoped it wouldn’t drag, he had so much work to do.

 

 

* * *

 

Swiping the screen with his proof of authorization, Erol stepped through the parted doors and took in the sight of a person idly waiting by the staircase leading up to the entrance. Judging by appearances, Erol would not take them for a _Haven Express_ journalist. Those were often more sharply dressed, this person was in a casual outfit and did not give off an air of intelligence. They did, however, exhibit supreme smugness just by the way they extended their hand out to Erol. “Commander Erol, I’m Twyla Keene from _Haven Exposed_. I’d like a minute of your time to confirm a…”

 

Erol interjected. “You stop right there, no need for further explanation. Show me the photos, statement, whichever, so I can get back to doing what I am actually supposed to.” Erol pondered for a moment what _Haven Exposed_ was. A faint memory of zapping channels reminded him of seeing a couple of seconds of a program called _Haven Exposed_ , something about celebrity figures, a lot of dramatic editing. He did not browse magazine-stands, so the content was generally unfamiliar. His gut told him that it was bad news, in every meaning of the phrase.

 

Keene stopped, a second of no movement, then dug their ink-stained hands into a messenger-bag to get out a miniature tablet. 

 

“We’ve had a photographer in Kras witness a scene, and before I can show you, I must question you, sir,” In the brief pause between Keene’s words, Erol’s gut became more and more sure that it was right, it really was bad news.

 

“What is your affiliation with retired Combat driver Razer?”

 

A dozen reporters before him had accused Erol of anything from feeding KG Junior Division soldiers gravel, to tweaking his zoomers with crocadog oil. While all the rumors were wildly different, they all had the same thing in common: they were all untrue. 

 

Erol could sense that whatever was on the tablet would break the chain. His hands itched to get a hold of it and crack it with his boot, though it would not likely help. Those reporters always had copies.

 

And in weighing his answer, Erol was not sure whether his reputation would be more stained if he lied or if he told the truth. When a time like that comes, the only thing you can do is tell a version of the truth, shortening it down and making it as vague as possible.

 

“I have met him on a few occasions.” 

 

Keene responded with a somewhat smug smile. Pressing the start-button to illuminate the screen, they pointed it toward Erol to let him take it in. “These are the candids we’ve got from an anonymous source. What can you tell me about them?”

 

Erol recognised the familiar figures, the scene, the time of day when it was taken immediately. 

 

Razer and him. Razer’s balcony, depicted slightly grainy from the lousy filmstock. A morning after a night in Razer’s apartment. It was taken last weekend. Erol was passing through Kras when he decided to hit Razer up and see if he wanted him over, which he did. In the picture, they were relaxing into each other, an embrace. It immediately made Erol want to throw up when he thought of the headlines.

 

It wasn’t public that Razer was affiliated with gang violence, but he had been under heavy fire for being spied on by paparazzi while clubbing with other Mizo-members. Erol was more afraid of the fact that the shocked-by-sex Havenites would distrust him as a Commander and a public figure. He would be ridiculed by the masses. Branded as a liar, as untrustworthy for keeping his private life private. Erol felt his head dizzying. But he needed to say something to Keene.

 

And there really was only one road to go down. “Do you know what kind of trouble your station will get into when it gets out that you tried to smear a KG Commander? Did you consider the type of situation you’re getting yourself into?” He threatened the reporter with his narrow eyes, moving just a little closer for effect. Keene was hard to read, but Erol kept going.

 

“We just might find a packet of illegally produced refined Eco in your apartment. Maybe some weapons you ought not to have. You could be put away for a long time.”

 

But Keene shot back. “I don’t doubt that you will use unfair methods, sir. But consider this; if there are pictures, it _will_ get out. We didn’t get it from an inside source. That guy with a camera who got lucky could be miles away, we didn’t get a number or any location. He could be selling them to every gossip-studio from Kras to here. We just might be the last ones to receive them. So you won’t get anything out of shooting the messenger, is all I’m saying.”

 

And so it sank in. A numbness coursed through Erol like a poison. The numbness prepared him for the inevitable defeat. All he could do was turn slowly and walk back where he came from. The doors shut behind him, and afterwards, Erol listened to the sound of Keene walking away and back to their zoomer, driving away. They got all they needed. Erol avoided all questions the rest of the day, trying not to fold. 

 

* * *

 

Razer heard the door chime and let it wait for a couple of seconds before he got up and answered it. A perky-sounding voice was at the other end of the door’s phone. “Hello, sir! I am Yune from _Kras Tomorrow_ with a few questions, may I come in?” 

 

It was better than no company, Razer thought. “Yes, come on in.” He unlocked the gate and waited for the visitor to reach the top of the stairs.

 

The reporter-type trotted up the many steps and formally extended a hand out to him. “Hi. I’m Yune. I hope I’m not imposing, it will really only take a moment.”

 

Razer smiled, maybe a little out of obligation. This Yune seemed rather young, could be an apprentice, he didn’t want to hurt his feelings by declining. Especially not before he knew what it was about. “It’s fine. Step in.”

 

Razer walked to his spacious kitchen, sitting down by the cup of tea he was brewing just before Yune interrupted. “What have you got for me? Sit if you please.”

 

“Well,” Yune pulled out a chair, sitting down gingerly and getting his portfolio out. “I have a couple of pictures I would like your comment on for our magazine. I should say they’re of you.”

 

Razer chuckled. “Ooh! Scary. What did you catch me doing this time?” Needless to say, Razer was a man who had had a comfortable spot in the tabloids for more than a decade and did not see anything new or shocking printed about him. Mostly because Razer had a No-Shame policy going in his life. He also never went back on his word; the press couldn’t hurt him with quotes, when he himself was so aware of what he had said.

 

A sort of tense chuckle came out of Yune. “ _Kras Tomorrow_ received these pictures a couple of days ago, and we’d like to know what the story behind the scene is, if possible.” He finally handed Razer the prints.

 

A memory flooded Razer as soon as his senses could take the image in. He’s getting up after a heavy sleep, barefooted he pats across the hardwood floors to start the coffeemaker. It’s chilly in the air, but in a nice spring-type way. And it’s better yet when he notices that the balcony door is ajar. Razer walks up to it, and through the slit he sees Erol. He looks more natural and relaxed than he has in a long time, standing with his weight comfortably rested in his elbows on the filigree railing. He’s only wearing a crumpled shirt and pants, no socks, so his feet show their reddened soles to Razer. He walks up behind him, his hands take a hold of the railing besides Erol’s own, and he leans his own naked torso against Erol’s shirt-clad back. Razer didn’t remember the brief conversation they had standing there, but he did remember thinking that he hoped Erol wouldn’t reject him standing like that. But nothing came of it, no drawing back, so Razer promised himself he wouldn’t overdo it while he had it. So they just stood like that in the morning dew for a minute.

 

Razer was back in his kitchen, looking up to see Yune’s expression of harmless anticipation. He laid the photos neatly down on the counter.

 

“What exactly do you want me to say to this?” Razer said benignly. 

“I - I don’t know exactly, sir. I think someone at the station found it odd that a Commander of the KG, Erol, seems to be… There, with you, so… Or that’s what we think… We needed your confirmation, sir.” Yune was undoubtedly an intern. No other person would look so uncomfortable with field work.

 

“I find it fairly self-explanatory, Yune.” Razer cemented his point, hinting at Yune with his eyes and short answer that he wanted him out of the apartment. 

“… But that _is_ Zoomer-star and KG Commander Erol… In the picture?” Yune was beginning to annoy Razer a little. And he wouldn’t like it to go any further.

 

“You can go now. I think you’ve got what you needed.” Razer calmly shot at him. Yune hesitantly got up from his chair, almost forgetting his messengerbag, then left. The photos, he _did_ forget. 

 

Razer stared at them after he heard the door shut. He couldn’t help but feel a knot in his throat when he thought about Erol receiving the news all the way over in Haven. No doubt he was not taking it well. 

 

He imagined it so, because Erol had before expressed a discomfort at the prospect that he could be outed to the nation. Razer knew too well what that anxiety felt like, when the power over your own public identity switches hands and it’s out of your control. He wanted to call him up, or see him in real life, anything to ease his suspicion that Erol was diving into a difficult part of his life.

 

But before he decided to do anything, he found himself looking at the pictures again. 

 

 

* * *

 

Razer thought the three-day rule applied fine in this situation. That’s at least what he thought on the first day of the three. The rule was, that he would only contact Erol after 72 hours if Erol did not contact him first, so he could keep an air of nonchalance about him, like he didn’t have to know right away when he could get to talk to Erol in person to sort this out. It had to look good. Razer could not disappoint nor make Erol think that their situation was making him the least panicky. 

 

He spent the first day immersing himself in work, like reading up on correspondences for the endorsements he had going with Kras’ various car dealerships(being the face for some high-end Brawler shop was easy money). He could spend hours catching up with the shows from TV that he always meant to watch, but never did, so he spent those hours well. Going out with friends to The Bloody Hook that night wasn’t such a bad occupation either.

 

Waking up the second day with a hangover, Razer was starting to realize how uneasy the state of affairs was making him. He was alone with his thoughts all day because he had finished all his work. There were no more boxsets to watch. All affiliates were busy during day-time. He did not want to do nothing, but whenever his mind wandered, there he came; Erol, clouding his mind. 

 

Razer supposed that he was worried because he felt an obligation to make sure Erol was getting out of this media-blitz alive. Razer was just as much involved in this as him, and couldn’t help but feel responsible for the grief caused by his involvement. Though, Razer didn’t even know if Erol was grieving at all. Which was another reason why Razer felt like he should stop wasting his time and instead press his number into his Communicator as soon as possible. But the three-day rule applied, stubborn as Razer still was despite his bad gut-feeling.

 

Day three eventually came around, and at around noon, Razer picked up his Communicator with absolutely no tremors of his hand and dialed. 

A waiting tone sounded for a few seconds. The hand that Razer swore did not tremble for any other reason than a lack of nicotine was shuddering more and more by the passing second. 

 

* * *

 

It was only noon, Erol noticed from his post in the training-field he surveyed. The Baron had a say in the decor of the KG grounds, and his biggest contribution was a ridiculously large solar clock, a status symbol, though Erol didn’t know if it really made the Baron look better or worse. The shadow pointed a little to the right of twelve. Erol’s day was going by slower for each minute spent, most likely due to the tedium and general discomfort Erol was under.

 

A melody played from one of his pockets, driving him out of the trance he was in. He got it out, checked the caller.

 

Razer.

 

Given the stress he had been under the past three days, Erol was not sure what kind of experience he would get out of taking the call. But when it struck him that Razer might be calling in regard to the photos, he changed his mind.

 

A positive beep came when he pressed the caller-button. “… Yes?”

“Hi. Are you busy? I mean… I know you’re always busy. But let it be one of your rare breaks, please.” Razer sounded different. Erol was not at all sure how, but he was less… Razer. He was most likely not calling for the usual reasons.

 

“It depends greatly on what you’re planning to tell me.” 

“Have you been visited by any journalists? Or, I don’t know, a photographer?”

 

Erol felt relieved for some reason. 

“Yes. A couple of days ago. I assume you have too.”

 

“Three days ago, some youth from a tabloid came up and showed these photos to me. I haven’t been approached by anyone else since. Have you?” Razer somehow sounded relieved as well. 

“No, actually…” A pause occurred. Erol wished he knew were to go from there, but the silence was like a cottonball in his mouth. 

 

“I was thinking we could meet on neutral ground. If you wanted to talk about it. We might be pressed, at one point or other, to give public statements. I want us to negotiate them together, but it’s up to you.” Razer asked. 

Another pause, but no cottonball for Erol’s mouth. After a second, it came down to this; “Okay. You name a time and a place, and we’ll do something about this.”

 

So Razer dropped the name of some coordinates and a time that fit. After pressing the off-button, Erol’s hand dropped to his side, the Communicator almost slipping from his loose fingers. 

 

A deep breath. 

Erol wasn’t sure what to hope for anymore in his situation; the media cutting him open so he could get it over with, or for it all to miraculously disappear. In either scenario, he would feel like a failure.

* * *

 

Razer thought the ideal meeting-place would be mostly anywhere after midnight. And halfway from Kras to Haven there was an oasis by the highway, a truck-stop whose shadows they could stand in. Razer took one of his less flashy cars, parking it in a corner to seem the least conspicuous. 

 

They had settled on meeting at 1 AM. It was just coming up to 00:58 on his watch, and Razer was about to beg the Precursors of time to push him up two minutes. He didn’t know why it was so nerve-wracking for him to see Erol again. Of course, it had a lot to do with the circumstances, but it was as if no cigarette nor other type of tranquilizer could calm Razer’s heartbeat. 

 

Standing with his back to the concrete wall, Razer unwillingly flicked ash from his 11th smoke that day when he jumped at the sound of feet on gravel. He didn’t peek around the corner to see who it was in the light, but instead waited patiently like a person who wasn’t the least freaked out by every sound in the dark.

 

The feet tread closer, the head of a shadow appeared. And it spoke with Erol’s voice; “You here? Say anything if you’re here.”

 

Razer could casually lean back again. “I’m right here.”

Slow steps took Erol into the inky blackness. Razer hoped that even though it was dark, Erol could still read his face. He could glimpse at at outline himself.

 

“An acceptable spot to talk, isn’t it?” The cigarette fell from his hand as Razer attempted a bit of dry, not-so-humorous humor. Might as well break the ice in the least awkward way possible.

 

Erol didn’t seem to think so, not by the sigh he emitted. He looked as if he was finding it hard to pick out the right words to speak into the silence between them.

 

“I can’t imagine you are feeling all that remorseful over this. You’d probably take any publicity as good publicity.” Erol said, not an inkling of humor in his voice.

 

Erol’s jab at Razer was more playful than spiteful to him. Razer knew it was one of his ways of communicating, and as long as it stayed on a more or less non-personal level, he found it adorable.

 

“ _Aw._ You thought of me and my feelings. For the record, I revel in any publicity. Just with this case as the exception.” Razer mocked back, getting what looked like a crooked smile from Erol, though it faded quickly. He was a lot more concerned with getting this over and done with.

 

“So you’ve been talking to some news-people. And I have been too, and it looks like we both saw them on the same day. If I had to conclude anything from this intel, it’s either that the agencies have a connection, or the photographer released his material to all stations at the same time. However many stations that is…” He paused for another sigh. “What was the name of the magazine that looked you up?”

 

Razer mused for a moment, tutting. “Well, I think it was… _Kras Today_ , _Kras Tomorrow_ , something like that.” 

A grimace took over Erol’s face slowly. “… You don’t know? You _must_ know what the name of the magazine was. Don’t pull my leg now, for fuck’s sake.” 

 

“Oh, if you look up both of those and see which is a real magazine, I am sure it will become clear.” Razer genuinely thought that would calm the storm brewing in Erol’s voice. 

 

It did not. “And what if they’re both credible? What are you going to say to me then, a third name?”

 

Razer tried with his soothing voice this time. “Please, now’s not the time to get pissed at me. Take a deep breath, it’s going to work itself out, okay? I am almost positive that it’s _Kras Tomorrow_ , it’s just that I didn’t really think to remember it in the heat of the moment. I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Erol pushed out a defensive hand at him. “No, no. You didn’t even think to get their name and remember it right! What the fuck is wrong with you to make you care so little about what’s happening?”

Now it was personal.

 

“You don’t think I take this seriously? I spent the last three days worried out of my mind that I’d walk by a newsstand with our faces on it. I was worried out of my mind about whether you were having a breakdown or something akin to that because of this whole ordeal.” Razer huffed.

 

Erol huffed in return. “But you still didn’t keep track of _one_ damn name. You must have known it was important to remember, I know you’re not _that_ dense.” Erol spat.

Hurt, but concealing it, Razer spat back; “And for that I am sorry! But there is absolutely no need to insult me like a child, so cut it off!”

 

Erol couldn’t think of doing much else than cross his arms and ankles, rolling his eyes thinking that Razer wouldn’t see it. Of course he did see it. Instead of getting more visually pissed off at him, Razer chose to lay a hand on one of the crossed arms.

 

“If you don’t believe me when I tell you I take this very seriously, then how are we going to work this out? I am not the least pleased with what’s going on. Especially because I know how it’s likely gonna be worse for you and your position, than it will be for me.”

 

Erol shied away from the touch, turning away a little. “You _don’t_. I don’t believe for a second that you get just how much worse it might be from now on. It might start with me getting cold looks in the streets, if I’m lucky. Then it might evolve into me resigning in disgrace from the Krimzon Guard. Or with my _exile_. If I knew what the Baron, the city, had planned for me if this comes out, I would not be so on edge right now.”

 

Razer swallowed, giving pause to Erol’s words. He was stubbornly hopeful that there were other scenarios for them. 

“Haven’t you thought about the fact, that once we’re public… We’ll be public. We won’t be a cover story every week once the glamour has worn off. We can be _out._ Can’t you imagine a reality where you come out of this unscathed?” Razer attempted to lay his hand on Erol again, squeezing his elbow just enough to come off as reassuring. 

 

This time, Erol’s entire body responded by shoving Razer away. 

“You are fucking — fucking — despicable! I knew it, I knew you wanted to spin this, so you could take me back and try and _corrupt me_ even more — You’re the sole reason I’m in this shit! If you had kept yourself off me, there would be no picture! And clearly, you don’t give a damn, or else you would have tried just a little harder to hold back your — your _disgusting urges_ or to remember the information that might help me have a life after this. You can _fuck off_.” 

 

“Erol, don’t —“

Erol took an erratic step backward, then started screaming and whispering at the same time the last sentence Razer would hear from him in a long time; 

 

“ _You fuck off!_ You fuck off and keep quiet. Then I won’t have to see you again.”

 

Erol fled in desperation, gone from the shadows faster than Razer could retaliate. His zoomer’s tail-lights vanished in the night in a matter of seconds.

Razer couldn’t remove himself from his spot until it had properly sunk in for him. All he could think of was getting back in his car and getting home again, though his head mostly felt void of thought. 

 

All the roads looked the same in the night. Halfway back on his route to Kras, he recalled that he could have ended their dispute, had he only remembered to show Erol the copy of the photo he had. It had the official stamp of _Kras Tomorrow_ printed on the back.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Two more days passed by in a time which didn’t exist. Razer was taking a walk at five in the morning by the docks, he wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway. That’s where he saw it for the first time; The exposé.

 

It was, of course, on a newsstand. The dreaded _Kras Tomorrow_. A 24-hour kiosk had put them out already. Razer walked up close to it, reading the headline that would ring through his head again and again:

 

**RAZER CAUGHT IN THE ACT: DATING THE COMMANDER OF THE KRIMZON GUARD**

 

It felt bizarre for Razer to go up to the register in order to ring it up. The sleep-deprived cashier behind the desk didn’t look like they knew that the guy buying the magazine was the same as the one on the cover, which was at least a plus for Razer. 

 

Razer actually wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to read it. He didn’t know what to do with himself once he stood there with it, the physical manifestation of this whole ordeal, right in his hands. He rolled the magazine up, carried it in his weak grip and walked back home. He could use some closure right about there. Razer could no longer remember the time he had felt optimistic about a scenario in which he and Erol would escape this.

 

* * *

 

Work kept Erol busy, but not stable. Every break he got, he would shut down into a state of panic in an unused dirt lot behind the arena or in the nearest bathroom stall. ‘Unbearable’ did not even begin to describe it. 

 

He checked news-outlets hourly, not that it helped his shaking or heart-palpitations. So he was quick to see it within the minutes it was published. It was early in the morning when Erol sat on the edge in his arm-chair, uncomfortably bent over, reading the screen in the scarce light.

 

**SECRET ROMANCE UNMASKED: THE KING OF RACING TAKES THE PRINCE OF ZOOMERS**

 

This was what Erol had begged for; the reveal. Next step was the judgement. He would see about it once he reported to the Baron later that day. 

 

* * *

 

Erol was sitting in the meeting room that a PA of the Baron had ordered him to enter at noon that same day.

 

The Baron was supposed to show up at noon, too. It was 8 minutes past and Erol had a tightening, suffocating feeling in his throat, in his chest, every blood vessel pounding in his ears, thinking to himself; ‘Not now. I can’t deal with this shit right now’.

 

The door opened without a sound, just the Baron’s feet across the floor were heard. Praxis did not say a word, he just pulled his chair out and sat down, eyes firm and in contact with Erol’s. Nothing about Erol’s exterior betrayed the panic inside him, just how it should be.

 

Praxis sighed somewhat heavily, leaning back in his chair a bit. “I’m not going to pretend for now, Erol. That includes how I’ve previously turned a blind eye to your deviations, pretended it didn’t affect the way the regiment sees you, then pretended that I knew it wouldn’t have consequences some day. You can imagine how it is, seeing this day, seeing this new, public side of you dawn on me. If I weren’t talking right now, I would be at a loss for words. And I bet there is nothing I can say that you don’t already know has crossed my mind.”

 

He was right. Or so Erol hoped.

 

“The thing is, Erol — you’re not collateral damage. You’ve been in the guard since before you were legally allowed by age, and I’ll be fucked if I one day forget the time I decided to see what this juvie-kid was really capable of. This is not the first time you have made it to the tabloids with a life-ruining scandal. And every time — you’ve risen above it, you’ve really shown the shitheads that branded you as a serial killer in the making, that you were worthy of standing in the public eye with resilience. You can’t resign. Not now. I can ban every news-outlet in Haven from publishing further speculation. You’ll stay quiet. No trips to the outside of the walls, not that I’d think you were considering doing that anytime soon. You know what could happen if you decide to throw all this away.” 

 

The room fell silent after the Baron’s wall of words faded. His voice went from genuine back to army general standard with his last sentence; “I think I’ve said enough. Dismissed.”

 

Erol had nothing to add. But out of formality, even thankfulness, he replied; “Thank you, sir.” before rising from his chair and exiting the room. The initial shock was settling in, he was just trying to hold up composure until he could reach an alley to sit in and heave for air. 

 

* * *

 

Kras was not exactly in upheaval when the headline dropped. Yes, there was buzz, there was a definite spread from one site to another with bolded lines such as: “ ** _NEW, JUICY DETAILS FROM INSIDE SOURCES_** ” or “ ** _CELEBS REACT! READ COMMENTARY_** ” being added to the mix from day to day.

 

In the first 5 days, there were 7 or 8 bureaus a day calling Razer up for a statement, but it didn’t go much further than that for obvious reasons. Razer had started to seclude himself without thinking about it, gradually choosing the alleyways over the mainstreets and wearing sunglasses even at night. It just happened, like a protective instinct.

 

But when he was out, there were stares in the street, even pedestrians coming up to Razer with a smart comment. Most were harmless. The ones that weren’t, well, they were anonymous threats shouted from a rooftop or groups of punks below Razer’s pay-grade that tried to intimidate him by shining their blades at him or standing in his path. Even if they would shiv him, it would not budge the protective vest Razer had worn for years.

 

Some commenters were even encouraging, which did not particularly please Razer. He did not want to hear people telling him how ‘brave’ or ‘hot’ he was at the moment. He felt neither ‘brave’ nor ‘hot’ at the moment.

 

The most worrying Razer did was when he saw mags with new, flash-photographed pictures of Erol, a sea of photos of him shielding his eyes with a strained hand. Razer didn’t mind seeing his own overexposed face on the stands, but he had to fight a sinking feeling inside of him when he glimpsed Erol’s.

 

In his desperation, he would buy some of them to read, in a hopeless act of trying to know how Erol was doing. There were never statements, comments, anything from him, magazine after magazine, just speculation from left and right. Still, Razer searched for something that would indicate how Erol was doing. 

 

Razer forgot to worry about himself. So when the day came that Mizo left a vaguely threatening message on his communicator, Razer had the sinking feeling that you get when you know you’ve forgotten to do something important.

 

He headed to the headquarters as fast as he could without directly running. It was daytime, so it was quiet. So quiet, because there were literally no-one else but Mizo, sitting in his open ‘business quarters’: it basically consisted of a desk and a board with a hit-list on it. 

 

Sat in front of said board was Mizo, looking no different than usual. Not a muscle out of place in his stone-like face.

“I received your message. I assumed you wanted to speak as soon as possible.” Razer looked at the plush chair opposite his boss, a luxurious model to match the other interior. But he wouldn’t sit until Mizo ordered him.

 

“That is correct. But I don’t think for the reasons you have in mind.” Mizo got up from his seat, walking calmly to Razer’s side. 

 

“I’m gonna ask straight up, because you’ve been a loyal member of my Dream Team for so long now, Razer, I owe it to you to be straight up.” Mizo was standing too close to him, his eyes were fixated and honed in on Razer’s.

 

“I see your face on magazines with a higher-up from the KG, I begin to doubt that loyalty. But I still find it hard to believe you would rat on me, just to get in the pants of that Zoomer boy. Unless you have been in alliance with them, and are devoted to someone else than me. You see, Razer? You see what kind of fucking dilemma I’m in here? So you either give me definite evidence of your devotion to me, or you know _what_ happens.”

 

Mizo’s paranoia for deep-cover agents was real, and had been real for as long as Razer could remember of his time with him. Especially back in the day when Razer slowly made his way into the Dream Team, Mizo had always been breathing down his neck about being careful with meddling with the armed forces, Kras-based or not. 

 

Razer knew that no matter what he had to say, Mizo’s apprehensions would overpower his reasons. 

“Of course I can’t give you hard proof for that, boss. I don’t even know how I would pull that off, even if I was going behind your back. All I can say is that I’ve never regretted being a part of your business. But if I have to resign, then so be it. So tell me; do you want me to go?”

 

Razer’s words were full of pathos, the only means he had to convince his superior at this point. He knew that his boss had an odd affinity for him, that Mizo deep down could never bring himself to have him executed for something like this. Or so Razer hoped, because Mizo had been odd for the duration of their meeting.

 

Mizo’s face had been unchanged all throughout the minutes they had been talking. Then his right eye finally twitched, which Razer knew was a sure sign he was either going to be hit in the face or embraced.

 

But neither happened, and Razer could exhale. A hand merely plopped down upon Razer’s shoulder, patting him coldly. 

 

“Resigning won’t help. But I think it’s best for the Team that you go away for a bit, huh? Take a load off somewhere. Away from Kras and such. I need time to assess the situation properly. To learn what to do with you, Razer. I might have some people in the network that can help me make my final decision. If you truly have nothing to hide, then I hope your leave of absence will be most relaxing.” With his vaguely menacing words, Mizo retreated back to his chair, picking up his communicator to make a call. Razer knew when to turn away, so he did, walking calmly out of the HQ.

 

* * *

 

One morning, the Baron made headlines by announcing that Erol would stay put as commanding officer of the Krimzon Guard. Some places in Kras actually sold _The Haven Express,_ and Razer bought the new editions every day ever since the story broke.

 

It read: 

’We in the Royal Guard will not let ourselves be affected by ill gossip or the public’s view of how a proper officer should act. It is up to me to decide that, and I will not tolerate any slandering of my subordinates.’ the Baron issued in an official statement given directly to our reporter. He has before this stated that all tabloid stories, blog posts or publicly spoken slander concerning this case is banned indefinitely, and if discovered, will be punished with up to 2 years in solitary confinement.

 

A tall order. Razer was not surprised the Baron would punish the press like that. He was, however, surprised that there was such protection surrounding Erol from the inner circles. He never knew how much Erol’s presence meant to that old Baron. Actually, he didn’t know a thing about Erol’s track-record within the Guard. You never know if you’re irreplaceable or collateral damage until you’ve got a scandal breaking on you.

 

So there was at least the top of Razer’s worries taken off. For now. After he had read the statement, sitting in his chair by the panorama windows overlooking the rainy harbour, he thought to himself; ‘I need a vacation. Badly.’

 

* * *

 

A rare sunny day in Haven. Erol was walking, civilian clothes on, in the busy main street of his hometown. The mandatory sabbatical was a month and a half deep at that point. 

 

Since their talk, the Baron had informed Erol that a temporary suspension was the best for the KG’s image for the moment. Erol knew who had changed the Baron’s mind from letting him into the force as soon as possible to this, a three month non-negotiable ‘sabbatical’. What a fucking joke to call it that. It wasn’t as if Veger had been high up on Erol’s list to begin with, but knowing that there was no other way the Baron could have been influenced so strongly to change his mind, the Count was bumped down a few. 

 

Erol was suffocating inside the city’s limits. 

 

The Baron had told him to not venture outside the walls. But the thought of going against him, to walk all the way through Old Town, no Zoomer, that would be too risky, just walking incognito to the exit for the pumping stations and going off the Baron’s grid, that thought was clouding Erol’s mind lately. Erol already had a second, anonymous card to access the stations for situations exactly like this, in which his real ID had been confiscated in the Baron’s attempt to detain him. 

 

Erol didn’t think it would be his fate to go against the Baron, the KG, the entire system. He hadn’t thought it would be, a month and a half ago. Things change. Especially when you have no routine, no reason to get up in the morning, you spend your days thinking up any scenario that can get you out of that confinement. 

 

Erol now knew exactly what to do. He was out to get supplies. He would leave somewhere around the middle of the night. But he had one more thing to do.

 

* * *

 

Razer awoke to the jolt of his communicator, its volume jacked to the max so the beep of an incoming message took him right out of his sleep. A heavy arm slowly reached over, eyes squinted at the small screen. 

 

Razer thought he was still dreaming because the message was complete nonsense, a series of numbers and a few letters thrown in there. But as he regained full consciousness, it wasn’t a mystery anymore. 

 

Coordinates. And sent by Erol. A double-take was made. No, it really was him, after months of radio silence. 

 

Despite his confusion and tired head, Razer wanted to get up and plot the coordinates right away. It was in the middle of nowhere, a Haven outpost by the sea. An invitation.

 

* * *

 

A secluded beach, palm trees fading in the autumn climate, a hut under the heavy grey skies painted the scene for Erol’s hideaway. It was off season, and so far away from tourism there was not a chance anyone would stumble upon it. 

 

The sea rolled with such relaxing perpetual motion, Erol had forgotten that Haven did have a redeeming quality in that it was near the ocean. He found himself being able to sleep, rocked into unconsciousness by the sound of those nearby waves, and he had only been there 3 days. He had a Scout Fly Delivery set up so fresh supplies were dispatched to him every other day, otherwise Erol had no contact to the outside world. 

 

Except, his Communicator was on. But he hoped that would only be temporary, in the case that someone might need to get into contact with him soon.

 

* * *

 

A shuttle took Razer as far as he could to the coordinates, meaning he still had to walk about a mile and a half to reach his unknown destination. He had not brought anything with him besides a change of clothes and other essentials in a shoulder-bag. He of course did not know what was in store for him, but he had to, at the very least, bring water and a toothbrush. Marts or any other shadow of a store were nowhere to be found on the desert-like road he was walking on. 

 

The communicator showed a helpful map with a target, radiating a positive signal bringing him closer. On his path he came upon a mossy staircase leading down the cliffside he was standing on top of. All he could do was stick to the signal. 

 

The road at the end of it became loose sand of the lower beach. He walked beside the rock face jutting out at him, with the contrast of the calm but grey water on his opposite side. Once in a while, he checked the communicator for an update. Suddenly he was mere meters away, but nothing in sight so far, aside from the ragged palm trees and rocks around him. 

 

But a hut hidden in a cove revealed itself from behind a precipice sheltering it. He got closer, he could see light coming from inside. He didn’t have to walk up to knock. Footsteps could be heard on the wooden floor of the interior from outside, they walked up to open the door calmly. And there stood Erol. 

 

He looked strangely good, at least compared to the images Razer’s mind had conjured in the months he feared Erol had gone off the deep end. He looked apologetic. A new look for Erol.

 

Words troubled them both. How do you lead on? All that Razer knew, was that he didn’t blame Erol for the things he had said that night, the last time they saw each other. But he couldn’t lead on with a remark about that. Even if it was tempting to do so. Erol reaching out to ask Razer to come to a remote shed said enough for him. And now that he was there, it was unnecessary to say more.

 

The anxiety under Erol’s skin stopped him from speaking his mind. ‘ _I can’t believe you actually came._ ’. ‘ _I am sorry._ ’. ‘ _I am so relieved._ ’. He was inanimate, save for his eyes searching Razer’s features. He had to find something to do. It just didn’t happen.

 

Razer couldn’t not stare, too. But he did move, making steps toward Erol. His bag slid off his shoulder, landing in the dunes somewhere along the way. He just had to stand in front of Erol. Close enough to touch, at least. 

 

Erol looked down. Razer thought Erol might have been watching his hands hanging from Razer’s sides. The hands relaxed some and carefully went up to rest at Erol’s elbows with the gentlest grip around his tepid skin. When they looked at each other again, they could close the distance between them with an embrace powered by Razer. He couldn’t help himself from rubbing Erol’s shoulder blades, taking in the moment of it all, from Erol’s foreign ocean-salted scent to the familiar feeling of his frame in his arms. Erol hid his face in the neck of Razer until he drew away, just enough to press a kiss to his mouth. 

 

They started to feel it all over again, the sensations of being together came back like a stub of film rewinding and playing back, they remembered how it was to be back. With every kiss it became easier, Erol remembering how to stand just right to comfortably press the rest of himself against Razer, Razer remembering how good it felt to run a hand from Erol’s back up through his hair to comb it with his fingers. 

 

Inside the hut, shoes were kicked off, hands gripped shirts to pry them over heads with hungry kisses exchanged throughout. Once they were stripped down to nothing, and with Razer lying on Erol’s body on the cot in the back room, Razer didn’t feel the tepid skin he had before, but a warm and inviting one. Eagerness drove them to skipping a lot of the usual games they otherwise enjoyed, Erol certainly didn’t need to convey with words what he wanted that instant. With only one interruption to fetch a tube of oil, they both continued down the path of bliss, with Razer holding Erol chest to chest as he entered him in a slick, natural motion. If moans were words, they would have had a heated, affectionate conversation in the time it took them to become satisfied. 

 

The sun behind the heavy cover of clouds had set, the light was dying out. Through the door’s opening, the lamp from the livingroom glowed as the only source of light near them. Neither one did anything about the absence of light from the cot they laid in. Erol just rested his careless head on the heaving chest of Razer. Sleep accidentally overpowered them. 

 

When Erol once again opened his eyelids, the darkness had consumed everything there was so see in the room. His eyes adjusted, letting him see the contours of the still sleeping figure of Razer underneath him. Erol couldn’t think of a better place to be. At no better time. And to think it worked out. He could have cried if he hadn’t been so taken by the sight before him.

 

Erol didn’t know how long he was propped up on his elbows, looking at Razer and the nothingness of the room before Razer awoke. Now would be another time to say what was on both of their minds. 

 

Instead, Erol got up to pick a pair of pants off the floor, pulling them on in order to turn the doorknob. Just a second of hesitation was between him and the moment that he walked out of the bedroom. Razer could hear his footsteps continuing out to the beach, fading into the sound of the waves. He lifted his heavy head from the pillow, gradually getting up as well from his spot. In the darkness he fumbled around for a bit after a shirt and the rest of his outfit, so that he also could step into the light and see where Erol had gone.

 

From the steps, you could see nothing but the sea for as far as was possible with the naked eye. If you forgot that there was a mountain behind you, you would feel as though you were on a deserted island made up of just sand and the ocean stretching all around you. That’s what Razer was feeling, when he peered through the dimness, seeing only Erol sat on the shore’s rim with his back to him. They had never been so alone.

 

Razer joined him quietly. Something was happening on the horizon. Razer briefly cared about what the time might be, but he didn’t need to know. A glow was making its way through the covers of clouds. He didn’t know how long he had sat there before the sun had broken through entirely and made it possible for him to see Erol in detail again. 

 

His back was bent over his knees, bare feet planted firmly into the sand. Erol’s demeanor was so uncharacteristically calm, with the way he was so devoted to the sunrise at that moment. All that moved on him was the soft wind in his roughed up hair.

 

They both wanted to say something. Razer the most, but Erol knew he had something to say, which would come out sooner or later. They couldn’t go quiet forever. But for now, this was all that was said; nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> (A special thanks goes to my pal like-the-direction.tumblr.com who is not only a skilled craftswoman with a word-document and has written some really great JnD fic that is my main inspiration for doing this whole story, but who also proofread the first part of this chapter !)


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